


Petrichor

by RoboticRainboots



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Also I've officially been writing fic for a year!, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Post-Promised Day, Thunderstorms, Wow most my fics are me just taking a personal experience and making it about a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 16:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20085205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoboticRainboots/pseuds/RoboticRainboots
Summary: Petrichor-(/ˈpɛtrɪkɔːr/) noun. The smell of rain on the dry earth.Weeks after the Promised Day, Alphonse convinces Mustang to take him out in a storm to rediscover the feeling of rain on his skin only to find so much more to the rain than just its touch.





	Petrichor

There were nights where Alphonse could recall a little too well the feeling of rain on his skin. Nights he sat on the floor and remembered, the memory of the ghosted feeling as redundant as the drops of rain themselves as it replayed over and over and over in his mind. Kinesthetic memory, the memory of a feeling, he knew it was called, and he wondered how he could even be capable of containing such a form of memory with no ability to touch at all. 

Those were the better nights. 

More often though, there were nights where Al couldn't remember any feelings at all. He couldn't remember what the sticky residue of melted popsicles dripping onto his finger in the summertime felt like, couldn't remember mud squishing up between his toes after a storm. He couldn't even remember the feeling of his mother's hand, feather-light on his head, pushing back his bangs in her final days. Sometimes he couldn't even remember something as simple as the feeling of rain. 

Lost things. Lost memories and lost time, scattered pieces forever gone. 

It comes as a surprise now to Alphonse, as he looks out the window of his hospital room, that as he sees the rain fall, that he can remember its touch. 

It's dark outside now despite it only being the early afternoon. The storm clouds have been accumulating for the past week now, building up in gray and black torrents and clinging to the atmosphere with their heavy liquid particles. It's been a long time since it has rained here, almost six weeks now, and so this storm has been highly anticipated. 

Al listens as the rain picks up, drumming louder and quicker as it comes down harder. It drowns out the ever-ticking presence of the monitors hooked into his skin, the pounding of the rain on the rooftop like his new heartbeat. 

It hasn't rained since the heavy storm the night before the Promised Day, at least according to the nurses who take care of him. They speak of that storm like it was a parting gift from God before the whole city was torn apart from its very foundation and the hospital filled up and overflowed with patients. It's as if the wrath of the Father scorched the earth permanently, his fury drying up all the rain and taking the storms away with it. Only now, now that the city is on the path to restoration, does it make its return. 

"It sure is coming down hard out there," says a voice from the doorway, and Al looks into the glare of the window to see Colonel Mustang standing there. 

The Colonel makes his way into the room, lingering near the walls and furniture as he comes in, his fingers ghosting their surface. There's a tension in the way he moves across the room, a caution laced through his rigid spine. He moves with a hesitance that reminds Al of when he was nine and just figuring out how to get on without his sense of touch and with a body made of steel. It's the uncomfortable feeling of doing something that once came easy but is now made hard, only the stakes so much higher. 

Mustang shuffles in, reaching out and finding the corner of Al's bed, taking a seat at the foot of it. 

He's been here to visit Al a lot lately, especially when Edward is gone. They're some of the last few stuck in the hospital, everyone else has been discharged for the most part except for those with the more severe injuries. Even Ed has been discharged from care, though he still chooses to spend every night sleeping in the room with Al, never leaving him alone if he can help it. 

Al's hoping to be discharged soon, he knows both he and his brother are antsy to get back to Resembool. Today Ed's out tying up some of the loose ends they have here in Central, trying to get everything in order so they can leave this place as swiftly as possible and go home to live their lives. 

He hasn't yet approached the Colonel about quitting the military, something he swore up and down for years that that would be the first thing he did the day Al got his body back. Al wonders why he's hesitant now, if he realizes that despite how much he resents the military he knows he will miss the friends he has made through it. 

"Wait," the Colonel says after a moment, "it _is_ raining, right? I'm not going completely crazy here, am I?" 

"It's raining," Al confirms, turning his head back to the window to look out at the storm. 

"That's good." 

Al isn't sure if the Colonel considers that a good thing because he knows they need the rain or because he's right about it raining with his minimal vision. Probably a mix of both. 

His vision has been an interesting thing to watch over the past few weeks here in the hospital. He started treatment with Doctor Marcoh and the Philosopher's Stone a little while back, and it's interesting being able to see the powers and abilities of the Stone up close. 

When Al first heard that the Stone would be used to restore Mustang's vision, he assumed it would be an instant fix, a one-time deal. Al hadn't expected it to come back to Mustang gradually, that the Stone would have to be used on him a little bit each day, and with each session with the Stone, his vision would begin to return more and more. 

There's a heavy clap of thunder outside the window and Al watches as lightning brightens up the sky in a million different shades of gray and blue. He drums his middle and index fingers on his right forearm over and over again, trying to imitate the feeling of rain on his skin. 

It's as he's doing this that the idea comes to him, and Al turns to Mustang to ask before he can think it fully through and convince himself that it isn't any good. 

"Colonel?" 

Mustang hums in response, almost completely inaudible with the restless rain and wind coming down outside. 

"Could you take me outside? To feel the rain, I mean." 

"You want to go out in _that_?" Mustang asks, trying to gesture towards the window and missing completely. 

Yes, he wants to go out in _that_. Only a crazy person would allow him to go out there in that storm in his current state. He'd have to sit in a wheelchair, legs far too skinny and atrophied to keep him upright, and chances are he'll probably catch a cold out there, but it's still a request he has to make. 

There's no way his brother would ever take him out there, he's far too overprotective to ever agree to something like that, but perhaps the Colonel can be convinced. This is his only chance to go out there and experience the summer rain shower for himself. He won't get this opportunity again anytime soon. 

"Please," Alphonse says, knowing full well he sounds like a little kid begging to stay up past his bedtime. "I just want to know what it feels like." 

"I don't know, Al. Your brother will absolutely kill me if he finds out I took you out there." 

"Who says he has to know?" 

Mustang lets out a long sigh and Al smiles. He's too easy to win over. 

"I really shouldn't help you do this." 

"We don't even have to be out there very long, just long enough so I can remember how it feels. It's been such a long time since I've been able to." 

There's something sad that sparks in the Colonel's face and Al feels bad for pulling out the I-was-a-child-trapped-in-an-unfeeling-body-for-the-past-six-years card, but there's something in him that compels him to feel it despite the consequences. It's like there's an invisible force inside his chest driving him, trying to dig up the kinesthetic memories he buried alongside his body far too long ago. 

The Colonel stands and helps Al into his wheelchair, Al guiding him on how to do so with his voice. He acts as navigator as the Colonel pushes him down the halls of the hospital, leading him to the courtyard at the end of the hall. There's a rose garden and some benches out there. 

Just a few minutes, that's all he needs to remember. 

Luckily no one questions them as Mustang pushes Al down the hall. It seems they've grown far too used to the sight of their faces that they automatically trust that they're not doing anything sneaky. Too bad for them too, because Al knows this goes directly against the protected state they've been trying their best to keep him in. 

Mustang props open the door and pushes Al outside. Immediately it is like an overpowering force topples him over inside, the breeze too strong to keep his mind upright. They're still under the awning, Al hasn't even felt the chill of the drops on his newly restored flesh, yet and he's still overcome by it all. There's something different watching it out here up close instead of inside from his window. Maybe it's the way he can hear it unmasked by the walls and window that separates him from the outside. Perhaps it's the heavy feeling of it as the humidity clings to his body like a second skin. 

Still though, it feels like something more than that, as if another sense that has been lost to forgotten time has been rediscovered. Sitting out here it feels like he's been caught up in something so much bigger than himself, something so mysteriously alluring in the very force of nature that is the storm. 

Whatever it is, it hits Al with such deeply cutting nostalgia that it almost brings tears to his eyes. 

If its effects on him are this powerful now, Al can only imagine what actually feeling it will be like. 

There's a small jolt behind him as Mustang grips the handles of the wheelchair again. "You ready to feel it?" he asks, hesitance at letting Al do this still laced through his voice. 

"Yeah," Al says after nodding at first and them remembering Mustang might not be able to see that. 

He's been ready for quite some time now. 

The first drops hit his legs. They're colder than he thought they would be, a contrast to the hot, oppressive weather out here. They roll off his skin and fall to the group around him. 

Mustang pushed him farther into the rain until they're both standing in it completely. Al feels the rain soak into his skin and wet his hair. 

It's amazing. 

The way the cool of the water contrasts the humidity, the way the drops recolor his hospital gown as they soak into the material. 

The rain is even louder now that they're standing in it. Everything from the squeak of the wheels of the chair to the sound of his own breathing has been erased. The only thing that exists to him now is the rain and the way it fills him with wonder. 

"Wow," he breathes. 

"You like it?" Mustang asks behind him, Al completely forgetting he was even there, so swept up in the rain. 

"Yeah, it's incredible," he looks up at the drops to watch the clouds they fall from. "There's so much more to it than I realized. I thought it would just be me _feeling_ it, but there's so much more to it than just that." 

"What do you mean?" 

Al lifts his hands and cups them, trying to catch the water in his palms. "The experience of it is so much more than just the wet chill. There's the sound of it hitting the pavement, the way it makes all the leaves of the trees look more vibrant, greener somehow." He thinks for a moment. There's so much that goes into, both visible and audibly and tactically, there's another piece to it that he hasn't yet been able to put his finger on. 

It's something so deeply rooted in his feeling of home and his childhood. 

"And the smell," he adds without realizing he's even saying it. That's exactly it, it's the smell. 

Mustang hums in acknowledgement. 

"Can you smell it too?" Al asks. Maybe he's just going crazy, smell doesn't seem like something that would be associated with rain. 

They're quiet for a moment as the thunder crackles above them. 

"Sometimes," Mustang answers. "Some storms are better for it than others, but I can smell it today." 

Al hums in response. "I couldn't always smell it, but now I can. It smells so good too, I don't know how I went my whole life without ever realizing the scent was there. I don't know what it smells like exactly, but it smells like home. It's strange, I couldn't smell it when I was younger, but I can recognize it now. Maybe I was too desensitized to it when I was younger and now that I haven't smelt it in so long it's now hitting me in full force." 

He goes on. "I remember Granny used to talk about it when we were younger and I thought she was crazy. And then my father mentioned it when we ran into him in Liore and it rained one night, but I didn't think anything of it because how was I to know? I couldn't smell anything at all." 

He thinks about that night. It was something of a miracle for not only him to meet up with his father after a decade of not seeing each other, but also for the storm that night as they stayed in Liore. It didn't rain out there like that but maybe once a year, it was too dry and desertous, but it had rained for them. 

Perhaps the ability to smell it was just something that came with being away from home for so long and then being greeted by the aroma upon return. Alphonse knows that he's not home now, not home in Resembool, but being back in his body is already its own kind of home. Perhaps being able to smell it comes with being just a little bit older, a little bit wiser. The nostalgic smell of the rain only reveals itself to those who have come to value the rain for what it is. 

Honestly he isn't sure how he went so long without this soft and earthy smell. Everything about it fills him up inside with a deep pang for his childhood, it stirs up a longing for better times and bluer skies within him. He knows he's finally able to start living that perfect, simplistic life now, the one he's always dreamed of for himself, but the rain smells far too much like the past for him not to yearn for the days he would help his Mom hang laundry out on the clothesline, standing on the stepstool just barely able to reach the line. It makes him wistful for days of running down the wildflower hills with Winry and Brother, returning home only for dinner long after dusk. 

He wants to be wrapped up completely by this feeling, shrouded and buried in it. It's warm like a blanket and sweet like honey. It's everything he's ever come to associate with home. 

He's never truly realized how much he's missed all the little things that made worth life living, the little things he didn't even realize existed before until now. There's so much left undiscovered to him, so many things he needs to reclaim for his own. 

"You ready to go back in, I'm sure you're cold," Mustang asks, startling Al and pulling him out of his reverie. 

"Yeah," Al answers, not even realizing how cold he's become and the goosebumps that have cropped up across his body until Mustang mentioned it. "We should probably head back now." 

The Colonel pushes him back to the hospital. When they get to the door, Al takes a final look across the rain-soaked landscape before they head back in. He knows he'll see this and feel this again, but for now he wants to copy it down into his memory forever. The feeling of the rain, the smell of home, perhaps someday he'll become desensitized and unappreciative of it once more, but for now he wants to encase it in glass like a snow globe to hold it in his hands forever. 

They make their way down the halls, dripping water like a breadcrumb trail behind them from their soaked clothes. Al's freezing by the time they make it back to his room and Mustang helps him dry off and put on a new hospital gown. 

"I'm sure you're tired after all that," Mustang says as he helps Al out of the wheelchair and into his hospital bed. 

"There's no way you're able to see _that much_," Al says, holding back a yawn. It's true tired, he gets worn out so easily, but it seems the calming presence of the rain makes him even more tired than usual. 

"No, but sometimes I can just tell." 

Mustang pulls the blanket up to Al's chest and turns off the lamp on the bedside table. 

"I'll let you get some rest, kiddo." He stands from his chair and traces the walls with his fingers until he gets to the doorway. 

"Hey, Mustang," Al calls to him right before he walks out. Mustang turns back to him to look at him. 

"Thank you," Al says. "For taking me out in the rain. It meant a lot to me." 

Mustang just gives him a smug smile. "Of course, kiddo. I wouldn't have let you miss out." 

He turns and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving Al alone to sleep. 

Al lays there with a smile on his face, turning the memory of only a few minutes prior over and over again in his head. He can't be happier to be home in his body. He spent so long chasing the idea of home only to collide headfirst into it in a summer shower. His long hair is still damp from the rain and his arms and legs are still covered in millions of goosebumps, but he's so happy to have had this. There's so much unexpected life dripping out of each nook and cranny of the world that he just can't wait to reexplore it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've just hit my one year anniversary of writing fanfiction and I'm so excited!!!1!! Thank you to everyone who has supported me and my writing in this past year, I can't wait to continue to bring y'all more FMA fic in the future <3


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